7:00 AM

Why did I want to become a doctor? This question has lingered in my mind ever since I joined Amethyst Hospital as an intern eight years ago. Even now, as a Resident Doctor, I still work over ten hours a day.

With an ongoing medical conference by the Indian Medical Association (IMA), our department was severely understaffed, stretching my usual ten-hour shift to sixteen.

As luck would have it, just as I wrapped up my scheduled surgeries at 8 PM, a group of adrenaline junkies decided to go rogue, crashing their bikes and landing in the ER with multiple fractures. If juggling between them wasn’t enough, I was pulled in for an emergency appendectomy on a teenager. By the time I was done, it was 5 AM. 

Phew! I had survived another brutal night!

Two hours later, I gladly handed over my duties to the next doctor and finally headed home.

As I got off the bus, I walked briskly toward my apartment. Just as I was about to turn the last corner, someone came running past, shoving a well-dressed man straight at me. He managed to grab onto a light pole to avoid a collision, but his coffee didn’t share the same fate—it spilled all over me.

“Aargh!” I shrieked as the hot liquid scalded my skin from chest to navel. Instinctively, I pinched my kurta away from my body, trying to put some distance between the burning fabric and my skin.

The well-dressed man cursed at the runner, who had already vanished without an apology.

Everything had happened in a split second, leaving us both annoyed.

Through his black-rimmed glasses, the stranger glanced at me and my coffee-soaked dress. “Pssht! What a waste,” he muttered under his breath. Then, without a trace of remorse, he added a half-hearted, “Sorry about that,” and walked away.

Too exhausted to care, I dismissed him from my thoughts and continued toward my apartment.

I had barely taken five steps when a worried voice rang out. “Sir, are you okay?”

I turned back and found the same stranger crouched on the ground, throwing up. A concerned bystander was hovering over him.

Surprised, I rushed to his side, my doctor mode kicking in. “What’s wrong?”

“St… stomach…” he managed to gasp.

“Where?”

Even in pain, he gave me a wary look.

“I’m a doctor—Dr Aashu Patra from Amethyst Hospital. Tell me, where does it hurt?”

He clutched his abdomen.

Nodding, I turned to the bystander. “Call for an ambulance.”

The stranger retched again until his stomach was empty. His lips quivered as he whispered, “He… lp…”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

Breathing heavily, he rasped, “Me-he Jen…”

“Meher Jain?” I repeated for confirmation.

He gave a slight nod.

“Hold on, Meher. The ambulance is on its way.”

Within minutes, paramedics arrived, loaded him onto a stretcher, and rushed him to the hospital.

Dr. Rohan Sehgal, the physician on duty, strode into the emergency room (ER), his gaze flicking between me, my coffee-stained dress, the patient before him, and our clasped hands. His eyes darkened at the sight, though I couldn’t decipher his thoughts.

Looking down at Meher, he asked, “What do we have here?”

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, I cleared my throat and replied, “We bumped into each other at a corner, and his coffee spilled on me. The next thing I knew, he was throwing up and complaining of acute stomach pain here.” I gestured to the affected area.

“Hmm.” He nodded and turned his focus to examining Meher.

Meher groaned about severe body aches as he was rushed for tests. Blood and urine samples were taken before he was sent to radiology for an X-ray, ultrasound, and CT scan.

8:00 AM

Meher’s condition deteriorated. He vomited multiple times, now with traces of blood, and was also experiencing diarrhea. With the reports still inconclusive, Dr. Rohan prescribed medication to ease his symptoms, though his deepening frown suggested growing concern. He ordered additional tests.

Just an hour ago, I had been utterly drained, but the surge of adrenaline had wiped away my exhaustion. Now, I waited outside the ER, restless and anxious for the results.

Unable to sit still, I stepped inside to check on Meher. He lay motionless, connected to machines monitoring his heart and pulse, an IV drip feeding into his arm.

“What’s wrong with me, doc?” he asked, his glare sharp despite his weakened state.

I hesitated, squeezing Meher’s hand gently, searching for the right words. I knew Dr. Rohan had ordered a toxicology analysis. Did he suspect poisoning? Before I could respond, Dr. Rohan’s voice cut through my thoughts.

 “Based on your symptoms, it appears to be poisoning,” he stated matter-of-factly. “We’ll confirm once the toxicology report comes in. First, call a family member, friend, or guardian for the paperwork. Second, tell me everything you’ve done in the last 48 hours.”

Shock, confusion, and fear flickered across Meher’s face before settling into anger. Scowling at Dr. Rohan, he asked, “Is there a cure?”

“The antidote depends on the poison’s chemical composition. We’re running tests to identify its constituents, but knowing the source would help narrow our search and speed up antidote preparation. In the meantime, we’ll start hemodialysis. Most toxins can be flushed out in the early stages through this procedure.”

Meher nodded, his frown deepening. Pointing to his phone on the counter, he ordered, “Call my secretary. The number is in the phone. Also, I want to file a police case. Someone tried to poison me!”

“We’ll have the police come here,” Dr. Rohan assured him. “For now, tell me where you’ve been, what you’ve eaten or touched, and who you’ve met.”

“People I’ve met? I’m the CEO of Atmos Investments. I meet dozens of people every day!” Meher snapped.

“Would anyone want to poison you?” Dr. Rohan asked.

“Yes! Anyone could have a motive! Even my wife!” His voice rose in fury.

Dr. Rohan remained unfazed. “What have you eaten in the last 48 hours?”

“I had breakfast at Soulful, a café in Hiranandani Gardens, Powai.”

“I know the place,” I chimed in.

Dr. Rohan ignored my remark. “What did you eat there?”

“French toast and a cappuccino for breakfast.”

“And yesterday?”

“The same. I have the same breakfast every day at the same place. The rest of my meals are at the office food court—lunch at 1, fruit juice at 7, and dinner at 9.”

“What did you have for lunch yesterday?”

“A set meal—rice, roti, curry, dal, salad, and yogurt. Same every day.”

“And dinner?”

“Chicken soup and bread.”

“And the day before?”

“Paneer salad.”

As Dr. Rohan jotted down the details in his notebook, Meher unlocked his phone with his thumb and handed it to me. “Call my secretary. Tell him to come over.”

Dr. Rohan closed his notebook and said, “Dr. Ash, follow me.”

Surprised, I hesitated for a moment before obeying. He had ignored my presence all this time—why was he suddenly asking me to follow him?

The moment we stepped out of the ER, he turned to face me, his expression stern. “Why are you still here? Your shift ended hours ago.”

Caught off guard, I struggled to find an answer under his intense gaze. “I just wanted to make sure he was okay,” I blurted. What had gotten into him today?

Dr. Rohan stared at me for a second and then said, “He is my patient, and I don’t want you screwing things up.”

Furious at his baseless accusation, I snapped, “What the hell did I screw up? I was just concerned!”

“If you’re concerned, then maintain some decency!”

I gaped at him, speechless. How dare he accuse me of being indecent?! My fingers curled into a fist, about to land a punch to his gut, when a nurse rushed over.

“Dr. Rohan, the first toxicology report is out.”

Dr. Rohan snatched the file from her and scanned through the results. Without missing a beat, he turned to me. “Come with me,” he ordered, grabbing my wrist and pulling me along.

He barged into the hospital director’s office without knocking. “We have a poisoning victim. Inform the police,” he said curtly.

Dr. Avinash Khan, Director of Amethyst Hospital, remained unfazed. “Is it a suicide attempt?”

“No.”

“All right, I’ll make the call.”

“Make it fast,” Dr. Rohan demanded. Then, pointing at me, he added, “And I need her for the day.” Turning back to me, he instructed, “Give him the details and come back ASAP.” Without waiting for a response, he spun around and left.

I stared at the empty space where he had stood just moments ago. What the hell just happened? Was he a psycho? One moment he was accusing me of being indecent, and another moment he needed me for the whole day?

“Uh… Dr. Aashu,” the director said to get back my attention. “Please help me fill in the blanks. What was Dr. Rohan talking about?” he asked, looking at me expectantly.

Taking a deep breath, I recounted everything I knew.

Once I finished, he nodded. “I’ll call the police. In the meantime, do me a favor—just bear with Dr. Rohan for a while and assist him with whatever he needs. You know we’re short-staffed because of the medical conference, and his resident is down with the flu. I’ve already asked two physicians to return, but it’ll take time. If you can extend your shift until then, I’ll give you a week off.”

A whole week off? I wasn’t about to let that deal slip away. Smiling, I answered instantly, “Okay.”

9:00 AM

“Dr. Ash! What took you so long?” Dr. Rohan demanded the moment I stepped into the Medicine Department, his tone laced with accusation.

After meeting with the director, I had taken a few minutes to change into a spare set of clothes, slip on my doctor’s coat, and fix my hair. Oh, and I had also applied a cooling gel to my chest and stomach—my skin had turned an angry shade of red from the morning’s coffee spill.

Technically, since Dr. Rohan was senior to me, I should have apologized. But for some reason, he was really getting on my nerves. Ignoring his question, I asked, “What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Jain has been put on haemodialysis. It’ll take four hours to complete. I’ve instructed a nurse to monitor his vomiting and diarrhea. If it doesn’t stop or at least reduce in the next two hours, we’ll need to add normal saline. My guess is arsenic or thallium poisoning. Ask him if he’s been around those substances, and tell the police to investigate ASAP!”

He delivered the rapid update and immediately turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” I called after him, frowning. Just half an hour ago, he was acting like I had no business being near Meher—now he was putting me in charge? Was he bipolar?

He shot me an impatient look. “There are other patients in the ER!” Then, with a smirk over his shoulder, he added, “Oh, and don’t forget—he has a wife.”

Rohan Sehgal! Does he have the mindset of a middle schooler? What did Meher having a wife have to do with me? Just because I was being nice to a patient didn’t mean I wanted a relationship with him!

10:00 AM

Inspector Ajay Sharma from Powai Police Station arrived, with a constable at his side. After registering the case, he began taking statements from everyone.

Standing outside the room, I listened as he questioned Meher. Just as I was about to walk away, I heard the inspector ask, “Mr. Jain, who do you think poisoned you?”

“My wife!” Meher’s answer was vehement.

“And what would be her motive?”

“We’ve been separated for five months. She desperately wants a divorce, but I refuse to give her one!”

Oh. That was sad. I made a mental note and walked away, exhaustion finally catching up with me. Hunger gnawed at my stomach as I headed to Dr. Rohan’s chamber, only to find it empty. Deciding to wait, I sank onto the couch, curled up, and let my eyes drift shut, surrendering to a much-needed power nap.

12:00 PM

Agonizing pain shot through my body, jolting me awake. My eyes fluttered open, and as I tried to sit up, I noticed something alarming—an IV drip was attached to my arm. My sluggish brain struggled to process what was happening.

With great effort, I pressed the call button.

Dr. Rohan rushed in, a nurse close behind. His usual stoic expression was gone, replaced by something that almost looked like… concern?

What was wrong with him now? No—what was wrong with ME?

I tried to speak, but my throat was parched, and no sound came out. When I finally managed to force out a hoarse whisper, it was barely comprehensible. “I’m… hurting all over.”

The rasp in my own voice startled me. I looked at Dr. Rohan, searching for answers, but before he could respond, my stomach twisted violently. A bitter, burning sensation crept up my throat.

I gagged.

And then I threw up—again and again—until there was nothing left inside me but exhaustion.

Dr. Rohan rubbed my back, wiped my mouth, and even cleaned my clothes before helping me lie down. “Dr. Ash, you passed out on the couch in my office. Where exactly are you hurting?”

“Everywher…” The word barely left my lips before my vision blurred.

Dr. Rohan nodded and began his examination, issuing rapid instructions to the nurse. But I could no longer focus. My body felt like it was shutting down, my limbs heavy, my mind fading into darkness.

A strange sense of peace settled over me.

Then—nothing.

11:00 AM

Stepping into my chamber for a breather, I found Dr. Ash fast asleep on the sofa, her neck tilted at an awkward angle. Should I adjust her or let her be? I mused, staring at her for a couple of seconds. If she stayed like that, she’d strain her muscles!

Sighing, I carefully straightened her neck and slipped a cushion beneath it for support. As I did, her hand slipped limply to the side. Something about the way it fell didn’t feel right.

A sudden unease settled over me. I checked her pulse—faint, almost imperceptible. Pulling the stethoscope from around my neck, I pressed it against her chest. Relief washed over me at the rhythmic lub-dub of her heartbeat. Her pupils responded to light, but something was off.

Had she collapsed from exhaustion?

Without a second thought, I lifted her into my arms and carried her to the nearest vacant room.

“Dr. Ash has fainted,” I informed the nurse. “Put her on dextrose and call me the moment she wakes up.” Then, forcing myself to focus, I returned to the ER.

But I couldn’t concentrate. Something about Ash’s condition gnawed at me, and my instincts were never wrong. In fact, the moment I saw her clasping hands with Meher Jain in the ER, I had a gut feeling nothing good would come of it.

Okay, I’ll admit it—I was jealous. The sight of her touching another man had sent a surge of irrational fury through me. I knew she was a doctor, and patient care sometimes required such things, but being in love with her… well, I wasn’t immune to jealousy.

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up to see Dr. Nihar Singh, a fellow physician. For the first time in my life, I was genuinely relieved to see him.

“I’m handing over the ER to you,” I said, already on my way out.

I needed to be by Ash’s side.

12:00 PM

Dr. Ash had just woken up when I entered her room. She looked deathly pale. In a soft, hoarse voice, she whispered, “I’m hurting all over.”

Her wide, questioning eyes searched mine for answers, but before I could respond, she lurched forward and vomited violently. I rushed to her side, steadying her as she retched, soiling her clothes, the bed, and the floor. My stomach twisted at the sight of blood streaking through her vomit. This was bad.

Helping her clean up, I eased her back onto the bed. “Dr. Ash, you passed out in my office. Where exactly are you hurting?”

“Everywhere…” she murmured before her eyelids fluttered shut.

Frowning, I examined her quickly and then instructed the nurse to run the necessary tests.

1:00 PM

“Sir, Dr. Aashu’s skin has turned red,” the nurse reported urgently, calling me back to Ash’s room. “I noticed it while changing her soiled dress.”

Ash had been dressed in a hospital gown, her unconscious form now resting on fresh sheets.

“Where is the redness?” I asked.

The nurse unbuttoned her gown, revealing an angry rash spreading from her chest down to her navel.

“Get me a magnifying lens and gloves,” I ordered.

Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a first-degree burn. But how had she gotten it? Then, a memory surfaced—when Meher was brought into the ER, Ash had mentioned bumping into him.

“Cover her up,” I instructed the nurse before striding out of the room.

1:15 PM

Meher’s hemodialysis had finished, and he had been moved to a private room. His secretary sat beside him, typing furiously on a laptop as Meher dictated. I didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“Mr. Jain,” I said sharply.

He looked up immediately. “Yes?”

“How many sips of coffee did you have this morning before you were brought here?”

His brows knitted together as he thought. “Two, maybe three,” he replied with a shrug.

“And how did Dr. Ash get coffee stains on her dress?”

“We… bumped into each other while I was having coffee,” he answered, his voice cautious.

“Did the rest of the coffee spill on her?”

“Yes,” he admitted stiffly. “Why do you ask?”

A realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

Meher had consumed a few sips before collapsing. The remaining coffee had spilled onto Ash, seeping into her skin. If the poison was potent enough, it could have been absorbed transdermally, leading to delayed symptoms. That would explain the burns, the vomiting, and the blood in her bile.

I clenched my fists, barely restraining the urge to lash out. This man was already on the path to recovery—the toxicology report would confirm the poison in two days, and he’d receive the antidote. But what about Ash? Could she hold on that long?

Grinding my teeth, I sank onto the sofa and dialed the hospital director.

“Sir, Dr. Aashu has fallen sick,” I reported the moment he answered. “I suspect she has also been poisoned. She happened to bump into Meher Jain this morning, and his coffee spilled all over her. I’d like to send her soiled dress to a forensic lab for analysis.”

Director Khan was silent for a moment. “What is her condition?”

“She collapsed around 10 AM,” I said, quickly explaining the sequence of events.

“Hmm. Send the clothes for testing and request priority analysis.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Inform the investigating officer as well.”

“Understood.”

“And keep me updated.”

“Yes, sir.”

Throughout the call, I kept my gaze fixed on Meher. His eyes widened in shock at the mention of Ash’s poisoning.

“Dr. Aashu has also been poisoned?” he asked, his voice unsteady.

“It seems so.”

“But… she didn’t drink the coffee. It only spilled on her,” he muttered, his complexion turning a shade paler.

“Poisons can enter the body through the skin,” I said coldly, watching him carefully.

“Hmm… okay…” he mumbled, looking more distracted than alarmed.

I couldn’t quite decipher what was going through his mind, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it.

His secretary, meanwhile, barely glanced up from his laptop before resuming his furious typing.

I took a steadying breath before dialing Inspector Sharma. The moment he answered, I updated him on Ash’s condition, my voice tight with urgency. He listened in silence before assuring me that he would launch an immediate investigation into Café Soulful to determine how the coffee had been poisoned.

2:00 PM

Ash was now undergoing haemodialysis as well. I paced the room restlessly, my hands clenched at my sides. All I could do now was wait—but how could I, when every fiber of my being was on edge?

The sharp buzz of my cellphone snapped me out of my anxious thoughts. An unknown number flashed on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Dr. Rohan?”

I recognized the voice immediately. “Yes, Inspector.”

“We’ve arrested Mrs. Jain and charged her with poisoning her husband.”

I exhaled slowly. “Did she confess? Do we know what poison was used?”

“Not yet. She’s refusing to talk, but we’re working on it.”

“How did you catch her?”

“She claimed she hadn’t seen her husband today or even yesterday. But the café’s CCTV footage tells a different story. She was there at the same time Mr. Jain was having his breakfast. It would have been easy for her to slip the poison into his coffee without even speaking to him.”

I shook my head. “And the motive?”

“She wanted a divorce. He refused.”

A bitter taste coated my tongue. “So she tried to kill him,” I muttered, disbelief tightening my chest. Was a life really worth so little? I sighed, rubbing my temple. “I hope you get a confession soon.”

As I ended the call, my gaze instinctively shifted back to Ash. Her pale face, the IV in her arm, the steady hum of the dialysis machine—it was all too much. The weight of helplessness settled heavily on my shoulders.

Mrs. Jain had tried to kill her husband, but Ash? She had nothing to do with this. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now she was fighting for her life.

I clenched my jaw. She had to pull through. She just had to.

3:00 PM

As the dialysis continued, Ash drifted in and out of consciousness. She responded to stimuli—a good sign—but remained trapped in a stupor. The poison was still in her system, and without the antidote, time was slipping away.

I checked my phone again, frustration gnawing at me. Inspector Sharma had yet to call. Had he managed to get Mrs. Jain to reveal the poison? I had never felt this helpless, not even when I was waiting for my medical entrance results.

Unable to sit still any longer, I dialed his number. “Inspector Sharma, I need to speak with Mrs. Jain. Please arrange a meeting.”

He hesitated. “What do you hope to accomplish, doctor?”

“I need to make her understand that her plan not only failed, but it’s also killing an innocent person.”

“I understand how you feel,” started the Inspector and added, “but I wouldn’t advise it.”

I clenched my jaw. “Inspector, please. I’m desperate!”

There was a pause. Then he sighed. “Let me speak to my senior. I’ll call you back in an hour.”

4:00 PM

The moment I stepped into the interrogation room, Mrs. Shanti Jain met my gaze with cold indifference.

“If you’re here about the poisoning, let me save you some time. I didn’t poison Meher,” she stated flatly.

I took a seat opposite her. “Mrs. Jain, your husband wasn’t the only one affected. A doctor—Dr. Aashu was exposed to the same poison when Meher’s coffee spilled on her. She had nothing to do with this, yet she’s fighting for her life.”

Mrs. Shanti Jain studied me as if searching for truth in my words. A moment later, her expression softened. Her gaze flickered with something—remorse, perhaps. But it was gone in an instant. “I’m sorry about the doctor,” she said, “but I didn’t poison him.”

I exhaled sharply. “You had both the motive and the opportunity. How can you deny it so easily?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Motive? Yes. I wanted him dead.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes burned with long-buried rage. “My father helped him rise in the company, and when the time came, Meher backstabbed him—drove him to suicide.”

Her hands clenched into fists. “And as if that wasn’t enough, he started abusing me. Always careful never to leave a mark—just scars where no one could see. I tried to go to the police. They didn’t believe me. No one did. So yes, I wanted him dead.”

She leaned back, exhaling sharply. “But opportunity? I was at Café Soulful today, just like every morning since our separation. If Meher was there too, I had no idea.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Then who do you think poisoned him?”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Since the plan failed, I’d say he poisoned himself.”

I stared at her, startled. “What?”

Her lips curled into a grim smile. “Meher doesn’t accept defeat. He always gets what he wants—by any means necessary. He hated that I was leaving him. If the situation had been reversed, he would have relished it. But him being abandoned? Unthinkable!”

I sat before her in silence, staring at her, replaying what she’d said in my mind. The raw hatred in her eyes was impossible to miss. It was motive enough for her to want him dead. But was Meher truly the monster she described? Selfish, calculating, dangerous?

I studied her carefully before standing. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Jain.”

As I left the room, unease twisted in my gut. If she was telling the truth, then we were back to square one. And Ash… she didn’t have time for us to be chasing the wrong suspect.

6:00 PM

I had to test Mrs. Jain’s theory—but how? I turned over several ideas on the way back, discarding each one until I settled on a plan.

Outside Mr. Jain’s room, two nurses stood chatting just loud enough for him to hear while I pretended to check his vitals.

“I bet Dr. Aashu won’t make it through the night.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Didn’t you see her vomiting blood? That’s the final stage of poisoning. Even if they give her the antidote now, it won’t reverse the damage.”

“Hmph… That’s tragic.”

“Yes, it is. At least the banker will survive.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Didn’t he throw up blood too? He may seem stable now, but once the poison reaches his tissues, his organs will fail—one by one. The antidote is his only hope.”

“But the toxicology report won’t come until tomorrow or the day after, right?”

“I just hope it’s not too late for him. Last time, we lost a patient waiting for those damn results.”

“Oh my God!”

“Hmm… The only way to save them both now is if the police find the culprit fast…”

I watched as the remaining color drained from Mr. Jain’s face. He licked his lips repeatedly, darting nervous glances between the door and his secretary. His breathing quickened. His fingers trembled.

At last, I turned to him with an almost reassuring smile. “Oh, don’t mind them, Mr. Jain. Nurses don’t always know much about prognosis. I’m your doctor, and I’m telling you—you’ll survive.”

7:00 PM

“Mr. Jain poisoned his own coffee?” I asked, stunned.

“Yes,” Inspector Sharma confirmed. “A video surfaced on YouTube Shorts. In the background, you can clearly see Mr. Jain tossing a strip of ‘NO MORE RODENTS’—a rat poison—into a trash bin at Café Soulful.”

“Mrs. Jain was right.”

“Yes, she was,” the inspector replied, already making his way toward Mr. Jain’s room.

“Wait—let me see the video. I need the brand name for the antidote.”

A minute later, I rushed to the nurses’ station. Prussian Blue. That was the antidote for thallium poisoning. I wasted no time instructing the nurses to begin the treatment for both Dr. Aashu and Mr. Jain.

After giving Ash her first dose, I hurried back to Jain’s room. But what I found inside made my stomach drop.

He was rocking back and forth on his bed, his face soaked in tears. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he clutched his head, wailing, “I’m going to die! He’s coming to get me!”

His secretary looked at me helplessly.

“Who is coming to get you?” the inspector asked.

Mr. Jain’s bloodshot eyes met mine. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Her father. The man I ruined. He’s coming to take me.”

I stepped forward, holding up a vial. “I have the antidote. You’re not going to die, Mr. Jain.”

“It won’t work on me.” His voice was hollow, haunted. His head shook from side to side, the motion slow at first, then frenzied. “It won’t. I never drank it. I didn’t have it.”

My frown deepened. “What didn’t you have, Mr. Jain?”

“The poisoned coffee,” he blurted. “I didn’t drink it. It spilled on that doctor. Someone else poisoned me—and no one knows who. I’m going to die!”

His lips trembled as his hands flew to his head, fingers clawing at his scalp like he could tear the fear out of himself. His breaths came in ragged gasps. “He’s here! He’s here to get me!” he shrieked.

Something was very wrong. His paranoia was spiraling. His reactions were erratic, his mind untethered from reality. This wasn’t just fear—he was hallucinating!

I pressed two fingers to his wrist. His pulse was rapid, thready. His breathing was shallow, almost gasping.

Then it hit me, and a chill crawled up my spine. This wasn’t just panic!

“Shit—it’s the poison. It’s reached his brain!”

I turned sharply to the nurse. “Get me a sedative, now!” 

Within minutes, Mr. Jain calmed, his body sinking into exhausted sleep.

Turning to Inspector Sharma, I exhaled sharply. “Let me get this straight. Mr. Jain poisoned his own coffee but never drank it. That coffee, instead, ended up poisoning Dr. Ash. So why didn’t he confess earlier?”

“My guess?” the inspector said grimly. “He wanted to flush out whoever really wants him dead.”

“And why poison himself in the first place?”

“He claims it was a suicide attempt.”

“Suicide?” I echoed, frowning.

The inspector shrugged.

“When did he tell you that?” I asked.

“When I showed him the video,” the inspector replied. “He confessed everything.”

I shook my head, still trying to make sense of it. “But why poison his cup if he never intended to drink it? Was he planning to pretend he’d been poisoned?”

The inspector exhaled. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Either he changed his mind at the last second… or he was never planning to drink it at all.”

He met my gaze, his expression grim. “Maybe it was never about suicide. Maybe… he just wanted to frame his wife.”

I let out a slow breath, shaking my head. “Well, that’s your mess to untangle, Inspector.” My voice was edged with exhaustion. “I don’t care why he did it. Right now, all that matters is—” I exhaled, running a hand down my face. “We got to Ash in time. She’ll make a full recovery in a week.” A faint smile tugged at my lips. Ash was going to be okay.

7:00 PM

What a mess. Just when I thought we’d cracked the case, I was back at square one.

Dr. Rohan’s work was done. I watched as he whistled his way down the hall, his steps lighter now that Dr. Aashu was safe.

Mr. Jain’s secretary, a young man with sharp features, stepped out of the room. Slinging his backpack over one shoulder, he cast a final glance at his sleeping boss before turning to leave.

“Tough boss?” I asked casually as he walked past me.

“Oh yes. Very demanding,” he replied with a knowing smile.

“I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Vishal Malhotra.”

I studied him for a second. “So, Vishal, what exactly do you do for him?”

He smirked. “I’m his personal secretary. That means I do… well, just about everything.”

“And yet, you don’t know who poisoned him?” I watched him carefully.

Vishal shrugged. “Boss has plenty of enemies.”

Something about him nagged at me—his face, his mannerisms. There was something familiar, just out of reach. I watched his back as he walked toward the elevator, my instincts prickling.

“Hey, Vishal!”

I turned to see an elderly nurse waving at him. Vishal’s face lit up as he greeted her warmly. She reached out, hugging him with genuine affection. They exchanged a few words before he stepped into the elevator and disappeared.

As soon as the doors closed, I hurried over to the nurse. “How do you know him?”

She chuckled. “Oh, I’ve known Vishal since he was a little boy. His father used to bring him to their plywood factory in Kochi. Mischievous kid—once, he got lost and fell into a vat of green paint they used for furniture. It had arsenic in it. Poor thing had to be rushed to the hospital.” She sighed, lost in memory. “That’s where I met him. I was just a trainee nurse back then.”

Arsenic. Plywood factory. Kochi.

My mind raced, pieces clicking into place like a puzzle finally forming an image.

Wait.

Wasn’t Mrs. Jain a shareholder in a timber factory in Kerala?

A chill crawled up my spine.

I yanked out my phone, making a few rapid calls. The internet made it easy—too easy. And there it was. The missing link.

Mrs. Shanti Jain and Vishal Malhotra weren’t just acquaintances.

They were siblings.

I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair. No wonder Vishal had seemed familiar. The resemblance was subtle, but it was there.

So, was it him? Her? Or both?

Either of them could have gotten their hands on arsenic. Either of them could have poisoned Mr. Jain. And motive?

Money? Revenge? Probably both.

I sighed. Rich people! Always playing chess with each other’s lives. I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. What a damn day!

Well, no rush now. Mr. Jain’s report will be out tomorrow. And once I have proof, I’ll be paying Vishal Malhotra another visit.

For now, I was going home.

Tomorrow, the real game would begin!

THE END.